Page 139 of Mafia Don's Secret Twins

Her words make my heart ache.

I know how bad it feels to just… want someone to see you.

“I’ve had enough of people using me or trying to manipulate me. I’ve had enough of people assuming who I am. I’ve had enough of people looking at me and seeing something they want to see, instead of the real person I am,” Marisol says bitterly.

I lean forward, pressing my forehead to hers. “I see you, baby. I fuckin’ see you,” I whisper.

Marisol breathes, her shoulders shrugging like it’s a huge weight that’s gone from them.

I don’t know how long we lay there. Long enough, I guess, for both of us to fall asleep. When I wakeup, the fire is low in the little hearth, and Marisol has her head tucked into my shoulder.

Seeing her there brings me so much joy it fuckin’ hurts.

I know that she says I don’t need to be anyone else. But, deeper than that, I still have a question that beats at my ribcage.

I don’t know who I am, either.

Her words resonated with me, but it picked at this scab, bringing it up until I can’t ignore it any longer.

How can Marisol choose me, out of anyone in the world, if I don’t have a fuckin’ clue who I am either?

My whole life, I’ve been whatever my brothers are not. If Marco was calm and collected, I was a fuckin’ mess. If Sal was smart and strategic, I was loud and ready to solve every fuckin’ problem with a hammer.

Even Caterina was the only person allowed to be kind. The only person I could picture being actually nice, in our fuckin’ shit-show of a family.

I’ve spent so much time trying to be just…different. Whatever that meant, whatever it took, didn’t matter. As long as I wasn’t like anyone in my family, I had done what I wanted to do.

Thinking about who I am, though, on my own?

Not a fuckin’ clue.

I know that I want Marisol. I know that she’s the perfect one for me, that I’ll never meet anyone like her.

But someday, she’s gonna figure out that I’m hollow.

There’s nothing inside me. The only thing that keeps me going, the only thing that’s driven me ever since I found out about the twins… it’s justher.

I don’t have anything to offer her. I can choose her all day, every day, but the outcome will be the same.

I don’t know if I’m a good father. I don’t know if I’d be a good husband for her.

Marisol can’t pick me, even if she wanted to.

Because me? The person I am?

It doesn’t fuckin’ exist without her.

And that shit scares me… more than it should.

When the sun starts to drift through the walls of the hut, Marisol sits up.

She looks down at me. “The rain. It stopped.”

Holy fucking shit.

It has.

We both scramble out of the cot.

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